Slowly, testing each foothold prior to putting her weight on it, the cyborg made her way down through the boulder-strewn ravine.
Snyder could “see,” however, since the surrounding rocks glowed green where some of the sun’s energy had been stored, and that helped the legionnaire to navigate.
Servos whined, pebbles rattled as they fell away, and the cyborg’s systems began to overheat as they strained to cope with the unexpected load.
Then, some fifteen feet from the bottom, a piece of seemingly solid rock sheared in two, the T-2 lost her balance, and fell over backward. There was a moment of free fall followed by a loud crash as Snyder hit the ground. The pack frame splintered, and most of the food packs were irretrievably smashed, but they helped pad her fall. A quick check revealed that all of the cyborg’s systems were in the green.
Noc Paa, who was halfway down the adjoining hill by then, heard the clatter and urged his subordinates on. “The devils are up to something! We must move faster! Follow me.” Quickly, like rain in a storm, the Claw flowed downhill.
Santana swore as Snyder hit. The Clones had departed by then, but that left the Thrakies, Vanderveen, and his legionnaires.
One of the Thraks, a female named Narvony, seemed a little brighter than the rest. So Santana had promoted her to L-1, a rank roughly equivalent to lance corporal, and put in charge of her three surviving comrades. The officer touched the noncom’s shoulder. “Take them down, Corporal, quickly now, before the enemy can react to the noise.”
Narvony nodded, whispered an order to her troops, and led the other Thrakies down into the ravine. Now, in a situation where their relatively small stature was an advantage rather than a hindrance, the Thrakies could excel.
Santana watched the green blobs diminish in size as the Thraks seemed to flow down hill never making a sound.
Satisfied that the Thrakies were clear, Santana turned to Vanderveen and signaled the diplomat forward. She nodded, backed into the ravine, and was gone.
“All right,” Santana said, turning to Hillrun, “send the rest.”
The Naa whispered some orders, watched his legionnaires drop into the ravine, and turned back again. “They’re gone, sir.”
“You counted them?”
“Yes sir.”
“Excellent. Let’s circle the fire, give the bastards something to look at, and get the hell out of here.” Hillrun stood, the officer followed, and they walked around the fire.
Noc Paa spotted the movement, smiled grimly, and waved his force forward. “Victory awaits! Now my friends, now!”
The Claw were halfway up the side of Lone Tree Hill by the time Santana and Hillrun started down.
Vanderveen watched from the bottom of the ravine. The second green blob, the last one to leave the hill, would almost certainly belong to Santana. The diplomat knew that. What she didn’t know was why his safety was so important to her. Was it because she needed the officer in order to complete her mission? Or was it something more? A possibility she was hesitant to admit—even to herself?
The question went unanswered as the legionnaires jumped to the ground and hurried into the center of a circle comprised of green blobs. “All right,” Santana whispered, “let’s get out of here. Stay alert, patrol order, move.”
The off-worlders had traveled less than a quarter mile when the Claw infiltrated the empty weapons pits, swept across the top of Lone Tree Hill, and discovered that the aliens had withdrawn.
Noc Paa swore bitterly, and was about to issue new orders, when a subordinate spoke. “Look! The fools left one of their weapons behind!”
Noc Paa was still in the process of forming the word “no,” when the underling grabbed for the weapon, jerked a piece of monofilament line, and triggered a detonator.
The booby trap, which consisted of thousands of rocks packed in and around a core that consisted of Ramanthian ammo plus five pounds of plastic explosive, roared as it went off. There was a flash, followed by a 360-degree hail of rock, some of which landed half a mile away.
None of the off-worlders turned to look since to do so would compromise their carefully maintained night vision. But a LaNorian shepherd saw the explosion from five standard miles away and told of a blast that lit the top of the hill, swept the Lone Tree aside as if it were no more than a blade of grass, and caused a sound like thunder.
In fact, so devastating was the explosion that with the exception of a few stray body parts, there was no trace of Noc Paa or his party of thirty-eight assassins when locals arrived on the scene shortly after sunrise.
Santana, well aware of the fact that more pursuers would soon join the hunt, pushed the column through the night. The moons rose, cast a wan light on the road ahead, and lit the way.
THE CITY OF POLWA, ON THE INDEPENDENT PLANET OF LANOR
The Imperial palace had no central heat—which meant it was cold during the fall and winter. A fact that had everything to do with why the Empress Shi Huu tended to spend a disproportionate amount of time on the fire throne during those seasons.
But it was summer now, which explained why none of the three stoves were lit and had potted plants sitting on them.
The walls were painted gold, a mural depicting the mountains of fire circled the room chest high, and more than five hundred candles burned in all manner of holders, niches, and sconces in order to provide light in the windowless space.
The center of the room, where Shi Huu’s retainers, advisors, and servants were forced to stand was warm, very warm, almost like the sixteenth and final chamber of hell. Especially if one was dressed in three or four layers of complicated court attire.
That’s why Shi Huu’s elaborate blue-gray “rain dress,” which symbolized the third day of the rainy season, was made of the lightest possible silk. A stratagem which allowed the Dawn Concubine to rest comfortably while her court sweltered in the heat.
Aware of their discomfort, but not especially interested in it, Shi Huu continued to push ahead. The Empress had already dealt with no less than five urgent messages from Ambassador Pas Rasha by the simple expedient of ignoring them, sentenced a provincial governor to death for skimming her tax revenues, and approved preliminary plans for the spring flower festival. She raised a carefully manicured hand. Jewels gleamed with reflected light. “What’s next?”
In addition to his responsibilities where civil matters were concerned, the eunuch named Dwi Faa also served as Shi Huu’s de Factor master of ceremonies, master at arms, and executive assistant. He consulted a hand-lettered scroll. “At this point Your Highness is scheduled to review a science experiment . . . followed by a number of private meetings.”
The Empress brightened. The “science experiment” referred to the use of what the Thrakies called “nano” on the three homely maidens. Had the nano improved their appearance? She could hardly wait to see.
Then, following the session with the maidens, Shi Huu would take part in individual meetings with twenty or thirty private informants. With the exception of the surgically mute bodyguards who stood to each side of the throne, no one would be present during those consultations, not even senior advisors like Minister Dwi Faa.
That created an atmosphere in which Shi Huu’s spies felt free to report on anyone, regardless of rank, which was critical to her efforts to remain in power. Still another lesson learned from the Emperor.
Shi Huu inclined her head. “Thank you, please clear the court.”
Those courtiers slated to leave prior to the scientific review, which included everyone but Dwi Faa, bowed and began the all-important process of backing out of the throne room without bumping into each other.
The most junior members of the court went first, followed by those of middle rank, and culminating with individuals such as Hoo San the eunuch in charge of military affairs.
It was a bittersweet moment since the courtiers were eager to escape the heat, but were well aware of the so-called experiment, and eager to learn the results.
It wasn’t to be, howe
ver, so the throne room was cleared, the Thraki ambassador was ushered in and reintroduced. Then, having received the go-ahead from Dwi Faa, Fynian Isu Hybatha put a gray metal box on the floor, and launched into her presentation.
The Empress gave an involuntary start as three semitransparent maidens appeared out of thin air. All were naked, and while blessed with shapely bodies, were extremely homely. Conscious of the delicacy of her task, not to mention the potential payoff should the initiative go well, the Thraki chose her words with care. She had five minutes . . . and hoped to make the most of them. “Here is a depiction of the maidens before nanosculpting . . . and here are the same maidens afterward.”
A door opened on cue, the maidens glided into the room and bowed to the Empress. Then, having paid their respects, the young females took their places next to their respective likenesses. Silk whispered as it fell to the floor.
Shi Huu stared in speechless wonderment. The maidens had been transformed! Each face was unique yet absolutely beautiful. The Empress knew it, and even more importantly they knew it, as could be seen in the way that they held themselves.
Fascinated, but not absolutely convinced, Shi Huu rose from her throne. Dwi Faa made as if to assist the Empress but the Dawn Concubine waved him off.
Shi Huu approached the first maiden, examined her holographic likeness, located a birthmark high on the female’s left thigh, and checked to see if the flesh-and-blood version bore the same flaw. She did.
Then, conscious of the manner in which off-worlders could construct realistic-looking mechanical bodies the Empress ran her hands over the entire surface of the second maiden’s body, even going so far as to probe her genitals. An indignity which her subject suffered in silence. There was no doubt about it . . . Everything about the way the youth looked, felt, and even smelled was as it should be.
Now, moving to the last maiden, the Empress subjected her to a series of questions regarding the more experiential aspects of the beautification process. How did she feel? Did it hurt? And what did she think of the results?
The maiden was extremely happy, as she should be, and said as much.
All three of the experimental subjects were ushered out of the throne room after that, leaving Shi Huu with the Thraki ambassador, her minister of civil affairs, and two bodyguards. Satisfied that the results were genuine the Empress returned to her throne. “So,” she said, addressing Hybatha directly, “they are as you said they would be. Each will be given to one of my most trustworthy nobles in recognition of services rendered. More than that I myself will undergo treatment beginning tomorrow.
“Now, assuming that all goes well, how can I express my appreciation?”
The Thraki ambassador was far too vigilant to miss the qualification inherent in Shi Huu’s words but experienced a sense of triumph nevertheless. This was the moment she’d been waiting for and Hybatha was quick to seize it.
“Your Highness is very kind . . . It has come to my attention that an off-world company called Chien-Chu Enterprises has located some valuable mineral deposits on the floor of the ocean. If the Thraki people were granted exclusive rights to this important resource we could harvest the minerals on your behalf and split the profits with your government.”
Dwi Faa decided to intervene. “It should be noted that Chien-Chu Enterprises paid for the right to explore under the Great Wet with the understanding that their company would receive preferential treatment if the effort was successful.”
Shi Huu cocked her head. “Interesting . . . So you want me to take this opportunity away from Chien-Chu Enterprises and give it to you?”
When it came to opportunities of this magnitude Fynian Isu Hybatha was absolutely shameless. She nodded. “Yes, Highness, that is my hope.”
Now, certain that she was dealing with a personality as ruthless as her own, the Empress locked eyes with the Thraki diplomat. “How much money would the government realize?”
“That’s hard to say until we obtain more information regarding the extent of the deposits, bring in the appropriate equipment, and start production.
“However, if things go well, and market conditions remain relatively stable, I estimate the agreement would be worth at least half a billion credits over the first five years.”
Shi-Huu assumed the off-worlder had started intentionally low—and made a mental note to insist on a percentage rather than a flat fee. Still, even the low figure would produce more revenue than the wheel tax would in the same period of time.
Would Chien-Chu Enterprises offer better terms? Perhaps, but her instincts told the Empress that the difference wouldn’t be all that large, plus the fact that Isu Hybatha could offer something Shi Huu wanted very much: a brand-new face.
“The minerals are yours,” the Dawn Concubine said firmly, “conditional on the successful completion of the revitalization process.
“Dwi Faa will work with you to create the necessary documents. I will sign them when I look into the mirror and see the past.”
Hybatha wanted to turn somersaults but managed a bow instead. “Thank you, Majesty, the Thraki people are most grateful.”
THE VILLAGE OF PUR LOR, ON THE INDEPENDENT PLANET OF LANOR
The village of Pur Lor was made of wood. Homes and businesses, many of which shared the same buildings, burst into flame as Bak Aba and her so-called red lanterns jogged through the streets.
In addition to the red lanterns, which symbolized fire, the females carried the real thing held high in their right hands. The torches trailed tails of fire as they danced this way and that, made contact with thatched roofs, flew through windows, and were tossed into piles of straw.
Bak Aba saw her gana’s home ahead but didn’t hesitate. Even she should have known better at her age the old fool still mumbled about democracy and was known to provide kas to the hill bandits.
The others watched as Bak Aba fired her grandmother’s house, took strength from her example, and started to chant. “Capa ta dum pas, Mee Mas, Capa ta dum pas, Mee Mas, Capa ta dum pas.” (Come out and play, Mee Mas, Come out and play, Mee Mas, come out and play.)
The words made reference to the summers when Mee Mas and other youngsters of noble birth had been sent up into the foothills to escape Polwa’s simmering heat.
Though they stayed at the Palace of the Mist, the youngsters entered the village on an almost daily basis. Most of the locals remembered the Imperial nephew as a pleasant young male who, in spite of the fact that he was spoiled, was forever doing good deeds, pestering the villagers with questions, and fighting imaginary battles.
And that, as Bak Aba knew, was the very reason why it was so important to find the noble and kill him. The Empress and Lak Saa might be at odds—but both leaders feared the same thing: a leader, any leader, who favored the concept of “democracy.” A hellish system that would almost certainly lead to chaos and destruction.
There were screams as villagers struggled to escape their burning homes, and the red lanterns felt additional heat wash across their backs as the two-story hundred-year-old Pur Lor dye factory exploded into flames and more than a hundred nar rats dashed out into the street.
“To the palace!” Bak Aba shouted, “To the palace!” and the lanterns obeyed. “Come out and play, Mee Mas,” they chanted. “Come out and play.”
Mee Mas was asleep when the attack on Pur Lor began, lost in a complex dream, when Faa Cha touched his shoulder. “You must get up, little one—the lanterns are on the way.”
Mee Mas opened his eyes, realized it was dark, and frowned. “Have you lost your mind, Faa Cha? What are you doing? Let me sleep.”
“Not unless you want to sleep forever,” the elderly retainer replied firmly. “The Claw set fire to the village and they’re on the way here. Come, while there is still time to preserve both your life and your dreams.”
It was then that Mee Mas heard the distant shouts, rolled out of bed, and rushed to the nearest window. He could see the red glow over the trees behind the palace and knew that Faa Cha s
poke the truth. “I must go to them, Faa Cha, and order them to stop.”
“Don’t be foolish little one,” the retainer admonished. “There is only one person they will listen to and he carries his genitals in a jar. But remember this night, fight for that which is right, and live your dreams.”
So saying Faa Cha pulled the princeling out of his room, down a long hall, and out into the central courtyard. Her husband, a male named Sii Sas, stood waiting at the well. A pile of materials lay heaped at his feet. He bowed respectfully. “Good evening, your lordship. Please slip your arms through the holes.”
The oldster bent, lifted a strange-looking contraption off the ground, and offered it to Mee Mas. The prince eyed the handmade rope vest, saw that it was connected to some rather hefty stones, and realized that the old couple meant to hide him in the well. “No, I won’t do it.”
“Ah, but you must,” Sii Sas said gently, “because you have work to do. You will die one day, as all of us must, but not today.”
“But I’ll drown,” Mee Mas said plaintively.
“No,” Faa Cha said as she guided his arms through the loops, “not with this in your mouth.”
Sii Sas grinned a toothless smile and shoved a tube into the prince’s mouth. It had been made from a length of Razbul intestine and twine had been wrapped around one end to form a crude mouthpiece.
Mee Mas saw that the other end was married to a length of hollow tasa tuber which Faa Cha held so that it was pointed at the sky. Was it long enough to reach the bottom of the well? The prince hoped so.
Mee Mas could hear the lanterns calling his name by then and knew that the Claw was close. Faa Cha and her husband guided their young charge up onto the top of a box—and from there to the edge of the circular well. Moonlight gave the scene a ghostly quality—like a scene from one of the prince’s dreams.
“Remember,” Faa Cha whispered into his ear, “you must remain at the bottom of the well until the sun appears directly overhead. The Claw will have looted the palace by then, consumed a vast quantity of Empress Shi Huu’s wine, and gone home to sleep it off. Good-bye, my child, and remember your dreams.”
For More Than Glory Page 19
